


Feel the Dirt cling onto Me

by RonaldRx



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fantasy of Mutilation and such, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Just to be safe, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mild Blood, Murder Fantasies, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Past Child Abuse, Punishment, Swearing, Uhm, Victor is a good friend/boyfriend, as in he washes and disinfects his hands until they bleed, contamination OCD, i guess?, if i need to tag anything else let me know pls, imagined gore, not the BDSM kind, the usual when it comes to these two, unintentional self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonaldRx/pseuds/RonaldRx
Summary: Roman has contamination OCD (not that he knows that) and his father punishes him by taking his gloves from him for two days. Lots of suffering and some murder fantasies ensue.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Feel the Dirt cling onto Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> Here I am already, again. This has been in my drafts since April and I finally got enough motivation to finish it.   
> Before anyone may decide to come for my ass: I have this kind of OCD (among other things) and the way I describe it for Roman, the way he experiences it in this fic, is how I experience it. I tried to be as coherent about it as I could but it's actually hard to articulate what goes on in my head, lol.   
> Either way, this started out as a "Roman wears gloves almost at all times but not when he's home AND he was incredibly disgusted by the girl's snot bubble and sb else's blood on him, so now I've decided to project onto him and give him OCD" kind of headcanon and morphed into whatever this is. It's both a vent piece and a character study, in a way. OCD sucks, is all.   
> Now, head's up for the things I tagged, pls do not read this if you're triggered by any of it and if you decide to read it anyway, please be cautious, thank you!  
> I hope you enjoy this anyway! It definitley isn't sth for everyone, lmfao. 
> 
> \- Ronny

'Where are they!? Fuck. Fuck! Big fucking fuck! Where the fucking fuck are they!?'

Drawers and their usually contained underwear and socks have been ripped out of their hinges and lay strewn across the floor. The bedding was ripped off and also rested on the floor in a mess of fabrics. A vase now lay in shards on this very ground as well, thrown on it in sheer rage and frustration. It was a small loss, though, as he never liked that ugly thing, anyway.

He ripped open the wardrobe door next, lunging onto the drawers and going through those and the racks, until a familiar deep male voice with an even more familiar condescending tone stopped him in his tracks.

"Are you searching for your gloves, Roman?", he heard the voice ask.

Roman tensed and slowly got up from his kneeling position and turned around, facing his father. He was breathing heavily, his face twisted with irritation, frustration and anger. 

"Yes! Where the fuck are they? They are supposed to be in that fucking drawer, but they aren't there!", he yelled, snatching a pillow that lay near him in the mess he created in his frenzy, and threw it forcefully back on the carpet, creating a dull thud sound. 

His father shook his head at Roman's theatrics. "I confiscated them. Every single pair of your gloves is somewhere, where you can't get to them."

"What?!"

Roman took two big steps towards his father, trembling with barely suppressed rage, his eyes piercing through him, getting right into his face. 

"What did you just fucking say?! You TOOK my gloves? Why? They are MINE! Why?!" 

Richard sighed, looking down on his son. Roman wanted to rip his face off right then and there. Fuck consequences. Fuck a cleanly peeled off face. Fuck everything he's ever fantasised about, while he sat in his office at Janus Corp, the dining table, his own room, anywhere really. Fuck it all. He just wanted him gone, right this moment. Roman wanted to make it painful, show him who he really was, what he was really capable of, that he couldn't just talk to him like that, as if he was above him in any way, that fucking skunk. 

"It's your punishment. What else did you think this is? Did you think I wouldn't punish you for acting out at the gala on Sunday? That you would get away with breaking a waiter's fingers and humiliating Mr. Drury's daughter in front of everyone else?" 

No, Roman didn't necessarily think he would get away with it. He thought that maybe they really didn't get wind of what happened, as he was waiting for punishment to come, since he has come home that night, and this morning, when he sat at the breakfast table with his parents. Yet, neither of them said anything about these incidents, so he thought he was somewhat save from his father's fists or worse. 

"You can punish me any other way, but I NEED my gloves, if you want me anywhere outside today," he said, wincing, as he sounded incredibly desperate to his own ears. 

"No. I've been too easy on you, in the past. You need to learn your lesson, Roman. You can't just soil our family name like that anywhere you go. I don't see you learning from your past punishments, so I thought to try something new. 

"The gloves are so precious to you? Then work to get them back. For now, I will have them confiscated from you for forty-eight hours. If I don't think that you're truly sorry for what you've done, and earned the privilege of having them back, I will keep them an additional twenty-four hours, and so forth."

Roman was absolutely livid. How dare this fake fucking fuck to take his gloves away and think this will work any better, than any of his past attempts at making him behave himself?! 

"Fuck you! Give me my fucking gloves back, or I swear to God, I will rip you apart and feed yo-" 

Richard back handed him harshly, cutting his cheek with his wedding ring, and leaving a bright red bruise over half of his jaw and left cheek. Roman gasped, but otherwise didn't react too much. He was just as livid as before, but didn't say anything. 

"You have some meetings to attend and then you're expected to be at your office at Janus Corp, where you will see some possible business partners until you're done for today, at 6 PM," his father instructed, calm and condescending as ever, as if he didn't just hit his son. "I will find out, if you buy gloves anywhere, and trust me, this punishment will only get worse for you, if you disobey me any more. Understood?" 

Roman nodded, which earned him another hit which stung even more, thanks to his cheek already being tender. 

"Yes, father," he then said, his voice breaking on the word 'father'. 

His father dismissed him and he left his room, and hurried down the stairs, grabbing his keys from the little table and had his butler open the door for him, without another word. 

Fuck! He wanted to punch something. Kill someone. It didn't matter. Just something to release some of that tension. This anger.

Anything but his fucking gloves! He could live without food for a day or two, he had to endure it before. He could live with being beaten up until his ribs cracked and his father realised that he probably shouldn't go any further than that. 

But he needed his gloves. He couldn't go outside without them. Let alone meet people and shake hands, touch door handles, or anything really. 

Everything just felt so fucking dirty! It felt like the grime just stuck on him as soon as he touched someone else's hand, his money, the clothes in the store, everything. Never knowing who's touched it before him, if they sneezed or coughed in their fucking hands, or didn't wash them after using the toilet and then touching everything, until the next fucker came along and touched it and added onto it or got sick from it - and then possibly even dying - by touching their own face afterwards. 

He was spiraling, as his rage was dimmed a little, to make place for the sheer anxiety he felt, thinking about how he will have to endure at least two whole days without his gloves. They were a protection, a prevention. With the gloves on at almost all times, he didn't need to wash or disinfect his hands every time he touched somebody or something. He didn't have to put lots of lotion onto his hands over night, to help them heal, as they were bloody and raw from washing and disinfecting them so often and thoroughly.

The gloves have been a constant for him over the past five years, since he was eighteen years old. To have them taken from him so suddenly filled him with such intense feelings of dread. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he stepped down the stairs to the open driveway in front of the mansion, where his car was parked, Victor Zsasz sitting in it, waiting for him. 

Zsasz was his personal bodyguard and lap dog. His parents had hired him a couple of months ago, unknowingly feeding Roman's cruelly violent side. Roman was still a little surprised by how stupid his parents were to hire someone like Zsasz, who was covered in scars and didn't try to hide the fact, that these scars represented very real people, whose lives he's taken in the spirit of freeing them from this sick world. But he seemed promising to them, to keep Roman save, since he got himself into trouble too often and continued to piss off too many important people who may or may not have connections within Gotham's criminal underworld, just like Roman himself did. So, that had the consequence of occasional hits being put out on him. A big red target on his back. But with Zsasz around, nobody has gotten the chance to come near him, if they tried. Victor has killed hit men for him, and would continue to do so. 

Though, this wasn't all Zsasz was doing for him. He also killed people who had the audacity to underestimate Roman and ridicule him for trying to get somewhere in Gotham's underworld. Of course they couldn't just let them live. After all, if you wanted to get somewhere in this particular world, you had to send certain messages and have people fear you. 

They had started out on doing this together. Victor thought Roman had a lot of potential and that he was a lot smarter and ambitious than some of the mob bosses that reign this criminal empire. Roman also entertained the idea of becoming a mob boss himself for a while, so he couldn't just say 'No' to such an opportunity, when he seemed to already have an incredibly loyal right hand man. On top of all that, he just liked to watch Victor work. He loved watching him peel someone's face off on his command. Never had he seen something so poetic before or felt so wonderfully powerful. 

As he finally reached the car, he stood in front of the passenger door, staring at it. He could open it. It was his car. It wasn't necessarily dirty, no one but him and Zsasz were allowed to touch it, and he trusts him. 

Yet, he couldn't do it. He couldn't move himself to touch the door handle and fucking open it. The thought alone filled him with even more dread. Fuck! He hated this so fucking much. He could have endured any other punishment, but this one felt exceptionally cruel to him. This ran so much deeper than his father probably realised. Not that he really cared. All he cared about was upholding a certain public image and causing Roman a certain amount of distress. He was certainly successful in the latter with this particular punishment. 

Oh, how much he hated his fucking guts. He would have his face peeled off, maybe even do it himself, and then he would have Victor gut him and hang him up on his bedroom's ceiling on those very guts. Maybe do the same to his mother. The fucking cunt didn't deserve a better treatment than he got. They would make a beautiful pair, wouldn't they? 

He was startled out of his fantasies, as Victor had come out of the car and spoke to him. 

"What's wrong, Roman?" 

For a moment, Roman hesitated to answer, but then he steeled himself and barked out his orders, "Open the fucking car door for me and then fasten the seat belt around me, too."

Victor did as he was told, without ever questioning him out loud. Roman saw the confused face he pulled, though, which was okay, as long as he didn't ask and just followed his orders like he was supposed to. 

Zsasz got back into the car, after he was done, and started the engine, pulling out of the driveway and to the big gates, until he pulled onto the streets. 

"Where to, boss?", he asked, tilting his head towards him for a moment, looking at him curiously. 

"Pharmacy." 

Roman's fists clenched and released periodically. He felt so fucking tense. He couldn't buy gloves, though. Fine. He wouldn't then. 

When they reached the nearest pharmacy, he instructed Victor, who listened closely and attentively to every word he had to say, again.

"In the inside pocket of my jacket, there's a bundle of money. Take...a- a hundred dollars out of it, and put the bundle back. Then you go into the pharmacy and I want you to buy a hand sanitizer there. A good one, a really expensive one that promises to kill off 99.9 percent of germs and what-not. Understood?"

Zsasz mumbled a "Yes, boss" and got to work, pulling out the bundle of money, searching for a hundred dollars bill, pulled that out, and put the money back. Then he got out of the car and went into the pharmacy. 

Roman leaned back, groaning. This promised to be an exhausting couple of days, but at least he had Victor by his side. He never questioned any of his orders and just did as he was told, he didn't make him feel embarrassed about this... thing he had, unlike his parents. It was not like he asked to be anxious because of things like fucking germs and feel the compulsion to wash or disinfect his hands every time he merely touched something. He didn't enjoy it one bit. It was a weakness he'd love to get rid of, but he didn't know how. Therapy was out of question for him, because his parents didn't want anyone to get the idea of Roman potentially being crazy, no matter how discreet a doctor promised to be. And while he managed to do illegal business behind their backs, he fucking hated doctors, so even if he had a choice, he wouldn't want anyone to poke around in his head. 

A couple of minutes later, Victor got back to the car. He got in and gave Roman the disinfectant, as he took the bundle of money, put the change in and put it back in Roman's pocket. 

Roman looked at the hand-sized bottle and smiled for the first time that morning. At least he had something to comfort him a little bit, whenever he eventually had to touch something unpleasant today. 

He immediately opened it and put two pea-sized drops on his hands, closed the lid, and gave it back to Victor. While he worked the liquid into his hands, he gave further instructions to Zsasz. 

"I want you to take the hand-disinfectant and keep it in one of your pockets, preferably your jacket, and whenever I ask you to, you will take it out and put at least two drops onto my hands, 'kay?" 

"Sure, boss. Anything else you need me to do?" 

"Only for you to drive me to a meeting now," he responded, sighing as he gave Victor the address of the building where the meeting was held and leaned back again, relaxing a little bit. 

He could do this. He wasn't alone. He would only touch things if he had to, and then he would ask Victor for some of the disinfectant, or he would go and wash his hands, if he could, and the two days would be over in no time. 

Oh, but he also needed to keep his temper in check. If he acted out over those two days, he'd pay for it. His father always made sure of that. He didn't want to prolong the punishment. Having Zsasz by his side would also help with that. He always managed to calm him down. Yes, that sounded good. He just needed to keep telling himself all that, and eventually he'd have his gloves back.

At the meeting, he had to shake ten people's hands. He felt so fucking dirty, he wanted to ask Victor for the disinfectant right away, but he hesitated, after the last handshake. 

Would someone comment on it? Would someone mock him, like his father always had? 

If so, he would most likely get mad and yell at the person who dared to make fun of him, maybe even something worse, since he was already tense as it was but he couldn't do that. Fuck, this would be more difficult than he first thought. 

He sat down at the round table, Victor stood behind him, always there, always watching. His parents knew it was a lost cause to not allow Zsasz into meetings. It was actually better that way, he didn't get as enraged, as he would when he was by himself. Additionally, it brought him some joy, as he saw people always nervously glancing towards Victor. His appearance and the fact that he would jump at any of them without hesitation, if Roman was to only lift his finger as a signal for him, put them off greatly. 

Yet, there was no certainty, that everyone here had gotten this message and wouldn't suddenly grow the balls to be rude to Roman about his seemingly inexplicable need to keep his hands clean. 

Roman clenched and unclenched his fists on top of the table, again, breathing in and out, deeply, to somewhat calm himself down. He just needed to remember to not touch his face, or anything really, and when the meeting was over in about two hours, he would be able to wash his hands and disinfect them right after. 

He then felt a nudge on his shoulder, and looked up behind him at Zsasz, who stared back at him intensely. Roman made a questioning sound. 

Zsasz gestured for Roman to put his hands under the table, palms up, and pulled out the bottle of disinfectant from his jacket. He put one drop on each hand and let Roman work it into his skin, who smiled relieved. Victor smiled back at him. 

Roman turned his head again and looked at everyone who sat at the table with him, but no one seemed to care about what they did. If any of them had seen, they didn't comment on it. 

He relaxed his shoulders and neck, and they began the meeting. It was boring as ever, but at least he didn't feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, so that was certainly a plus. 

The rest of the day went similarly to this. Victor - unprompted - opened every door for him, fastened his seat belt, got out the disinfectant, whenever needed, and occasionally massaged Roman's shoulders and neck, in-between meeting possible associates in his office at Janus Corp. 

At the end of the day, Zsasz drove him back to the estate. They bid their good-bye's, agreeing on the next day's time for pick-up, though, it usually didn't change from 9 AM, it gave them both some reassurance, needed or not, that was up to the day they've had. 

Roman sighed, as he went up to the big doors of the mansion, and got inside. 

His goddamned hands fucking hurt. They haven't started bleeding, yet, but they sure as fuck were going to if the next day went just like that. His knuckles were red and the skin rough and dry, the back of his hand just the same and his wrists- oh, his wrists probably hurt the most. They were an angry red all around and were short of starting to bleed, some skin already peeling off. He really needed to put some lotion on all of that and hope that it would help to at least not make his skin break completely. 

At dinner, his father told him that if he kept obeying nicely, like he did all day, he would definitely get his gloves back by Wednesday morning. As cruel as his father was, he at least stayed true to his words. 

So, Roman was all the more motivated to play nice and not act out, which was easier said than done. He just wasn't good at controlling his emotions. He was actually incapable of that but then again, Victor helped him with that. Zsasz's mere presence had that impact on him. Though, he also encouraged it, if Roman were to lose it. He would direct him to the next best target to let it out on. Both of them enjoyed that and usually it helped bring back Roman to the real world in a way and also get him into a better mood. And sometimes, it would even lead to Zsasz killing the target they chose, gracing him with a new tally on his skin. A win-win situation all over. 

Eventually, Roman went to sleep that night. He had to put a big dollop of lotion onto his hands. It pissed him off. It took him a long time to get his hands to the point where they had been this morning, and now he was practically starting at point zero again. It wasn't fair! 

He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, trying to keep calm. Only the next day, still, and he would be fine. He would get his gloves back and his hands would be fine in a few weeks, again. It was all right.

The next morning, his skin was still rough to the touch and an angry red of a mess of rashes, but at least it wasn't as dry or close to bleeding as it was last night. He thought to take his hand lotion with him that day, not making the same mistake twice. Though, he did hate the feeling of the lotion, it left his hands feeling sticky and greasy, but it helped, so he had to suck it up and ignore the uncomfortable feeling. 

When he went outside, to get to the car, Victor already stood waiting outside by Roman's car door, which he opened as soon as he got close enough. 

Roman smiled, grateful for Zsasz all over again. He nodded his thanks to Victor as he slid into the car and sat down in his seat. The bodyguard leaned over him to fasten the seat belt, just like he did the day before, and then closed the door, rounded the car and got inside himself. Eventually they drove away, Roman giving him the address of where he was needed first. 

The day wasn't much different than the one before, which for Roman meant that he had to endure a lot of people blabbing away, trying to get into business with Janus Corp, or already being business partners and trying to tell him about new investment ideas and what-not. Not that he cared or that he could even decide anything because he was just there to make an impression and learn the way around this job, as the official heir. 

Roman couldn't wait for the day he could finally get out of his parents' grip. He and Zsasz were already planning vividly. Roman would open a club, the Black Mask Club, named after his criminal alias, and he and Victor would live above it in a loft. They just needed to find the perfect place for that and do it without his parents noticing because that certainly wouldn't end well. He was supposed to stay in the mansion after all and work at Janus Corp until the day he died. 

Roman was also supposed to meet with Falcone and some of his men that night but fuck, he absolutely didn't want to. His hands were already bleeding by the time he left the office and got into the car with Zsasz, and it was just embarrassing. Falcone was supposed to think quite highly of him and not witness that Roman had a weakness.

Also, shaking another few pairs of hands and having to disinfect or wash them again and again already hurt his hands at the thought of it. Taking the lotion with him in the morning did absolutely nothing for him, as he just gave up on re-applying it the fifth time around in the span of just a couple of hours. And now he was paying for it with his bleeding fucking hands. 

On top of all that, the meeting was just too important to cancel it. This was a one time opportunity of buying some men off of Falcone and having them as his own. They had already agreed on it, yes, but he was still meant to be there and make an impression on his newly acquired staff and Falcone himself. After all, not everyone could say that they were barely in their mid-twenties and had already managed to get on Falcone's good side enough to have him hand over some of his own men, even if those were only the lowest ranks. It was better than nothing. 

So naturally, at night Zsasz and Sionis found themselves in Falcone's regular spot for the meeting. 

When Roman shook hands with Falcone, he noticed the other man look at them with a curious gaze, quirking his lips in a slight smirk. It felt mocking. Sionis refused to flush with embarrassment or get enraged and possibly lose the promised men and his footing on the criminal's good side. So, he sucked it up and just pretended not to have noticed. Pretended to have unintentionally tightened his grip on the other's hand. Pretended not to be imagining peeling his ugly mug off and jarring it for others to see whenever they thought they could fuck with him. 

Other than that, the meeting went smoothly. Details were settled and as soon as Roman had paid Falcone, he would be given the low ranks into his possession. 

Sure, it was a little risky. He didn't know if they wouldn't act as moles for Falcone but frankly, he trusted the mob boss to not make such a stupid and grave mistake. Falcone was a seasoned criminal and business man. He of all people should be above such simple tactics. So, Roman took the chance. 

They shook hands again as they bid their good-bye's and when Victor and Roman reached the car and were sitting in it, Sionis let out a deep sigh, sounding both relieved and tired. Zsasz immediately pulled out the bottle of hand-sanitizer and squeezed out two pea-sized drops onto Roman's palms, as he did so often in the past - roughly - forty hours. 

When Roman got home eventually, he luckily didn't have to face his parents since they had already been asleep at the time. He vanished into his own bedroom, showered and got himself ready for bed with his nightly skin-care routine and such, while trying to ignore the throbbing, burning pain of his hands and wrists. Sometimes he hissed in pain, his skin pulling apart and blood welling up. The area around the open wounds were an angry red and burned, looking like they would split open any second, too. 

In order to avoid that, he put a thick layer of hand lotion on his hands and wrists and worked it in thoroughly. It burned even worse and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and breathe in and out deeply for a moment, swallowing down the whine that threatened to leave his mouth. Then he got up from his seat at his vanity mirror and lied down in his bed, crawling under the covers. 

Only one more night's sleep and he would get his gloves back. 

With that in mind, he finally fell asleep, leaving some of the anguish behind and for his morning's self to deal with.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, I would appreciate it if you left Kudos and Comments, thank you! 
> 
> If you want to, you can come talk to me on:
> 
> Twitter: @RonaldRx_
> 
> and Tumblr: RonaldRx
> 
> just don't be creepy or anything!


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